I’ll never forget the drive up to Banadlen Lodge last autumn – that crisp October weekend when North Wales wrapped itself in a golden haze of falling leaves and that bracing chill that makes you feel properly alive. We’d set off from Cheshire early, me behind the wheel of our battered old Fiesta, singing along to Radio 2, with my mate Dave in the passenger seat nursing a thermos of tea. The journey was a dream at first, winding through the A55 with Snowdonia’s peaks peeking through the mist like shy giants. But then, classic me, about 20 miles out, I took a wrong turn near Bangor – nothing major, just a daft detour down a narrow lane that had us bumping over potholes and laughing as a flock of sheep scattered like fluffy cannonballs. “You’ve got us lost in the back of beyond now,” Dave chuckled, but honestly, it just added to the adventure. We were only a half-hour late arriving at Llanfair Mathafarn-eithaf on Anglesey, and the sun was already dipping low, painting the sky in those fiery oranges that only autumn delivers.

Pulling up to Banadlen Lodge just as twilight kicked in was pure magic. Tucked away in a peaceful spot near Brynteg, it’s one of those cosy dog-friendly cottages that feels like a hug from the Welsh countryside. The season had turned the surrounding fields into a patchwork of rustling bracken and coppery ferns, with the Menai Strait just a stone’s throw away, its waters shimmering like molten silver under the fading light. We unloaded our bags – well, mostly Dave did, while I faffed about locking the car – and stepped inside, hit by that glorious woody scent of a wood-burning stove already crackling away, courtesy of the hosts who’d left it stoked up. October’s nip in the air made it irresistible; we kicked off our boots and huddled round it with mugs of builder’s tea, watching the flames dance. “This is what holidays are for,” I sighed, feeling the week’s stresses melt faster than the marshmallows we’d toasted later.

First impressions? Blimey, it was spot on. The lodge is compact but perfect – think exposed beams, plush sofas, and a kitchen kitted out with everything you’d need for a fry-up. That first evening, with the wind whispering through the trees outside and a light drizzle tapping the windows like a gentle drumbeat, we cracked open a bottle of red and peered out at the garden. Autumn had decked it out in berries and fading blooms, and in the gloaming, we spotted a few rabbits hopping about, ears twitching against the breeze. It was so quintessentially North Wales – that raw, elemental beauty that hits different this time of year, when summer’s crowds have buggered off and you’ve got the place to yourself.

The next morning, waking to frost-kissed windows and the low moo of cows from a nearby farm, I nipped out for a proper look around. The air was sharp as a tack, carrying that earthy tang of damp leaves and sea salt from the coast. A quick wander down the lane – no more than a mile or so – took me to Red Wharf Bay, where the beach was a vast expanse of wet sand fringed by dunes turned tawny by the season. Waves crashed with a moody rumble, and I stood there, hands stuffed in my pockets, watching gulls wheel overhead. Back at the lodge, Dave had the kettle on, and we scoffed bacon butties while planning nowt much – that’s the joy of autumn here, innit? No rush, just layers of woolly jumpers and the luxury of lingering.

By the third day, as we packed up under a sky heavy with promise of more rain, I had a proper moment of reflection. Staring out at the mist rolling in from the strait, I thought about how this time of year strips things back – no blazing sun demanding hikes, just quiet contentment in the lodge’s warmth. It’s made me realise I’m a proper homebody at heart; Banadlen Lodge, with its seasonal charm, felt like the perfect mirror to that. If you’re after a getaway that lets autumn do the talking, this is your spot. We drove off with full bellies and fuller hearts, already plotting a return.